e on the rode
They tere my sydes and are nothynge dysmayde
My woundes they open and deuoure my blode
I god and man moost wofully arayde
To you complayne it maye not be denayde
Ye nowe do tug me / ye tere me at the roote
Yet I to you am chefe refuyte and boote

Wherfore ye kynges reygnynge in renowne
Refourme your seruauntes in your courte abused
To good example of euery maner towne
So that theyr othes whiche they longe haue vsed
On payne and punysshement be holly refused
Meke as a Lambe I suffre theyr grete wronge
I maye take vengeaunce thoughe I tary longe

I do forbere I wolde haue you amende
And graunte you mercy and ye wyll it take
O my swete brederne why do ye offende
Agayne to tere me whiche deyed for your sake
Lo se my kyndenes and frome synne awake
I dyde redeme you from the deuylles chayne
And spyte of me ye wyll to hym agayne

Made I not heuen the moost gloryous mansyon
In whiche I wolde be gladde to haue you in
Now come swete bretherne to myn habytacyon
Alas good brederne with your mortall synne
Why flee ye from me / to torne agayne begynne
I wrought you I bought you ye can it not denye
Yet to the deuyll ye go nowe wyllyngly

[Decoration]

[Illustration]

See
Me
Be (kynde

[P] Agayne
My payne
Reteyne (in mynde

[P] My swete bloode
On the roode
Dyde the good (my broder

[P] My face ryght red
Myn armes spred
My woundes bled (thynke none oder

[P] Beholde thou my syde
Wounded so ryght wyde
Bledynge sore that tyde (all for thyn owne sake

[P] Thus for the I smerted
Why arte [thou] harde herted
Be by me conuerted (& thy swerynge aslake

[P] Tere me nowe no more
My woundes are sore
Leue swerynge therfore (and come to my grace

[P] I am redy
To graunte mercy
To the truely (for thy trespace

[P] Come nowe nere
My frende dere
And appere (before me

[P] I so
In wo
Dyde go (se se

[P] I
Crye
Hy (the

[Decoration]

Vnto me dere broder my loue and my herte
Turmente me no more with thyn othes grete
Come vnto my Ioye and agayne reuerte
From the deuylles snare and his sutyl net
Beware of the worlde all aboute the set
Thy flesshe is redy by concupyscence
To burne thy herte with cursed vyolence

Thoughe these thre enmyes do sore the assayle
Vpon euery syde with daungerous iniquite
But yf thou lyst / they may nothynge pr